The Hike of a Lifetime
From childhood to retirement. Is it the journey or the view?
I met a childhood friend at a trailhead parking lot and greeted him in a warm embrace. Ron and I have known each other for millions of years but haven’t had the chance to meet face-to-face since well before the pandemic.
We’re both sixty-four, our birthdays just weeks apart. I’m retired and Ron still works as an operations manager for a local manufacturer. We met in kindergarten and were inseparable all the way through college until after graduation our paths diverged.
Ron took off to San Francisco for job opportunities and lifestyle, and I opened a printing company in my garage. We lost touch as our careers and relationships led us around the country but I’ve always felt that our friendship was as solid as the granite outcroppings on the hillside above.
Childhood
Oyster Outlook is a formidable day hike. The trail rises four miles and two thousand vertical feet up a rocky and densely forested mountainside cut with dozens of switchbacks. The slope averages a sharp ten percent grade which might be a skip in the park for the younger crowd but is quite the challenge for those of us who’ve softened in the middle.
Yet eagerly, like two young boys, we charge up the incline of the first switchback. Reaching the distant outlook is meaningful, a stupendous goal to aspire to, but early in the journey, it’s more theoretical than real. Our only thoughts are of the freedom around us, testing our limits, and enjoying old stories and laughter.
Along the way, rocks and roots conspire to trip us up but with a youthful spring in our steps we hardly notice. We stop for photos and sips of water, and sometimes just marvel at the beauty around us. Trees, pinecones, mushrooms, leaves, everything is exciting. Even the musty smell invites us to hike deeper into the woods.
Mostly we enjoy being in the moment. The rest of the hike will follow naturally, and the end will come when it comes. It always does, there’s no reason to dwell on it.
Adolescence
Chuckanut Mountain is woven with a myriad of trails that lead to lakes, rivers, and beyond. One trail offers to take us 868 miles to the Rockies if we’re so inclined. At each intersection, we double-check the map and consider taking the other path. Would it be better? Worse? How can we know? Our view is restricted by the thick salal and hemlock trees and all we know is what we’ve been told by others. We can only hope we’ve chosen well.
“Do you remember Olivia?” Ron asked.
“My first date, an Elton John concert. I can’t believe you remember that. What a disaster.” We laughed so hard we had to stop and catch our breath.
Coming of age is a time of recognition that the world is an enormous place filled with opportunities and danger. It’s a time when we make choices that can affect an afternoon or the entire arc of our lives.
Some choices are made for us, like Ron’s sexuality. Coming of age as a gay man in the 70s was an untamed wilderness with no markings or maps. One high school classmate of ours took his own life, some say in a similar struggle.
Light fog creeps in between the trees and constrains our view. Ron said it will get better so we soldier on, squinting to see what’s ahead of us and never looking back.
Adulthood
A young couple dashes past us like they have rocket boosters in their shoes. No water, food, backpacks, or hiking poles, just a blind determination to get somewhere above us and then back again before lunch. I hope they don’t get lost.
I think about my gear: snack bars, two waters, gloves, and a rain jacket in my pack. I brought two sets of hiking poles, one for Ron because he doesn’t hike as much as I do and doesn’t own any. He has a bottle of water that he carried in his hands until he tired of it and tucked it into my backpack.
“How much further do we have to go?” Ron asks, hiding his exhaustion behind a smile.
“We’re about halfway,” I say, looking up the hill at the fog. “We’ll get there in an hour or so.”
Once I settled into a career and got married I turned into a planner. Nothing is worse to me than being caught in a situation I didn’t anticipate or without a backup plan. That first date with Olivia was a long drive to a concert where I left the tickets at home and didn’t have enough money to buy more. A disaster. I vowed never to let that happen again (it has, but rarely).
Ron and I had the same information available to us when we started this trek: distance, slope, temperature, weather. But we planned for it much differently. I was over-prepared, and Ron was under-prepared. To each his own they say, sometimes to one’s detriment.
Older adulthood
We take a break on a bench beside the path and talk about our careers, partners, and kids. From our vantage we can see the switchbacks we navigated far below us and marvel at the incredible feat we’ve accomplished so far. It’s quite humbling, gazing into your past.
Our lives diverged sharply after college, and it took years and significant emotional effort to find each other again. I’m glad we did. I can see he’s happy and so am I.
It’s clear to me now that it’s not the direction you choose to take, it’s how you approach life that makes you happy.
“You go ahead, I’m heading back,” Ron announces.
“What? We’re almost there.”
“I know, but it’s a great view from here and that’s enough for me.”
I look up at the fog obscuring the mountaintop, knowing there is still a hard mile to go and an uncertain view at the top. Will it be worth it, or should I go back down with Ron?
He urges me on with a hug and I give him some water and an energy bar. Then I watch him pick his way down the meandering path until he rounds the switchback, out of sight once again.
Retirement
The fog lifts as I reach the outlook, and my spirits soar from the feeling of accomplishment. The view stretches for miles across the bay to islands with mountains that hold their own myriad of trails leading to lakes, rivers, and beyond. I imagine a host of other hikers reveling in their accomplishments and looking back at me, wondering.
What trails did they take and how difficult was their climb? Did they prepare well for this magical time or are they shivering and regretful?
Everything it took to get here was worth it. All the roots and rocks, all the stories and laughter. I wish Ron was here to enjoy this with me, but at this moment in time, I realize that it isn’t the view so much as it is the journey that makes this moment special.
I have plenty of food, a warm jacket, and water, so I wait and watch. Some come and go in their t-shirts and tennis shoes, while others sit reverently with their backpacks and lunches.
How long will I stay here and enjoy this exquisite panorama? I have no way of knowing, but I’m as prepared as I can be and I’ll enjoy it for as long as I can.
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